


beauty (come out of ashes)

by violentdarlings



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Episode: s08e05 The Bells, Episode: s08e06 The Iron Throne, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi, Sibling Incest, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 12:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18894295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: Tyrion finds his siblings in the tunnels beneath the Red Keep.





	beauty (come out of ashes)

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck you season eight.

Tyrion sees them, then, two crumpled figures against a half-collapsed wall, one cradling the smaller other, dusty Lannister hair against a bearded cheek, a golden hand outstretched –

_(and after everything, murdered lovers and fathers and children alike, Tyrion doesn’t even think, doesn’t even_ breathe _, just runs towards his brother and sister as fast as he can manage, heart like a feathered thing trapped in his throat, surely not surely not surely not, surely, they could not have survived –)_

when Jaime sits up, coughs out a rasping oath, and Cersei opens her eyes.

“You’re alive,” Tyrion says, like the stupid fucking idiot he is, and their green eyes – so alike even now, when they’ve been apart for so long – pin him to the ground, flayed open in the broken rock.

“Apparently so,” Jaime says, Jaime _says_ , that Jaime is alive to speak and be a sarcastic fucking _cunt_ is just the best thing in the world and Tyrion is grinning like a madman, he knows, his gods-cursed twin siblings are alive, and Jaime shaking his head like a dog trying to get the dirt out of his hair, and his sister, Tyrion’s sister, glorious like impending doom and probably ready to slit his throat and there she is, just –

_(“Cersei,” he might be saying, wheezing really, like it’s him with the throat full of dust and heart battered by the falling stone, “Cersei,_ Cersei _–”)_

_smiling_.

“Tyrion,” she says in wonderment, her wicked eyes full of light, brighter than he’s ever seen them, gods, by all the gods, his sister is beautiful, when did he stop noticing that? “Tyrion.” And stumbling to her feet, her gown torn and shredded, blood crusted on her cheek, he can’t move away, she might as well come over him and kill him, to think of living all these years hating her and not once, not ever once, realising he loved her too.

She drops to her knees, bone cracking on the ground, and his heart is in his guts and her hands are cradling his face and maybe this is death, it’s death, just wearing his sister’s face. “You came,” she says, and Jaime crawls over on his hand (and gold) and knees, maybe he can’t stand, golden lion brother, maybe Tyrion’s the only one who’s still got feet.

“I came,” he agrees, mindless; maybe the stone knocked the bitch right out of her head, because Cersei could never lie to him and she’s looking at him like the sight of him is straight out all the seven heavens. “Of course I came, idiot, you pair of idiots, can’t take my eyes off you for ten fucking seconds without this _shit_ –” and the breath is seizing in his chest, his throat is fisted tight, he might just be about to die.

“Breathe,” Jaime says, and brackets him on the other side; Tyrion wants to strike him, really he does, who does Jaime think he is, telling him to breathe like they weren’t the ones who nearly got the life snuffed out of them, the breath crushed out their golden lungs –

“Fuck you,” Tyrion replies, and he’s hiccupping, fuck, he’s crying like their weak little baby brother, he’s always been that, why the fuck couldn’t it have been this easy before. “I hate you both _, I hate you both_ –”

Cersei kisses him, then, right on the mouth, and he’s pretty sure he drips snot on her cheek when she presses her forehead against his own. “Don’t cry, little brother,” she says, and Jaime’s hugging him, hugging both of them, all of them, he doesn’t know where his stunted limbs stops being their beautiful hands and feet and stump, doesn’t ever want to know.

_Don’t make me be alone again,_ Tyrion thinks, or maybe he says it anyway, his head tucked against his brother’s shoulder, Cersei’s hair is in his eyes –

and he loves them like the disease they are, wretched Lannister blood, the same through all their veins.


End file.
